Good Translation Novels & Stories

Looking at her current appearance, Helen Cara couldn't help but think of the book "French Industrial Production" that Laura had translated before. Her translation was rigorous, Not a single mistake was made, and everyone who saw it complimented it. But Helen Cara felt that it lacked a little interest. If Cara was asked to translate it, she would translate it into an easy-to-understand popular science book.

~ ANASTASIA ~ I step deeper into the large household, mentally rolling my eyes as an old man in white and black butler outfit after speaking with Damien walks towards me. “Good evening, Mrs Vicen–” “Ms. Zhukov.” I correct. He frowns in puzzlement. “I'm keeping my maiden name.” I say, the words sounding like a lie even to my own ears. He nods stiffly. “Very good ma'am. Shall I excort you to the–”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him crestfallen. “Not now,” she said. “I can’t concentrate if you’re teasing me. Do you want this translated or not?” He sighed and returned to the screen. “Okay. What does it say?” “It is not all German,” she said. “Some is Russian. Misspelled, bad grammar, words out of order.” “Bot?” “No. I think it’s a person, just bad with languages.” “What does it say?” “It talks about bank accounts and transferring money for travel. Trusting God and wanting to serve a higher purpose once she gets to America. That’s the best I can get. Badly written.”

In translation, she meant, why the hell are you here? “I also did Kelsey.” I said, coldly. I translation what I said was I came to see your disgusting face once more. “And I must say, you look rather dashing Madame Browne.” She added. In translation to her words she was saying I looked rather hideous today.

The four sentences. The Moon Goddess had not spoken in language as I understood language. She had spoken in something that arrived as language, complete and clear, the way the true name had arrived as something that settled into the space shaped for it. What I had then put into words for Kael was my translation of that arrival, and translation always loses something, but I had done my best to be faithful to the meaning rather than the experience. What she had said was this.

“I was terrified. I didn’t dare move an inch. Cold sweat just kept pouring down my back!” “But this time… I actually understood what it said.” Goselle whispered, barely audible, “What did it say?” “It said something like ‘can you…’” “That’s all I caught clearly. The rest I couldn’t understand.” Yvonne asked nervously, “Then what did you do?” “Obviously—I used xxx translation software!” Dwyn’s voice suddenly boomed, full of confidence. He solemnly launched into a promotional-style spiel for the app. Then, in a cheerful tone, he continued,

“Doesn’t he normally eat dinner here? Oh, but with everything going on, you can’t be sure. Got ya. Now, so I don’t waste your precious time, I’ll get down to my point. These treaties are a mess. Whoever wrote them was working in an older and more formal form of English. It’ll be a pain in the backside to catch everything in them. I have someone working on them to update the language and we have to pray nothing gets lost in the translation.” “What exactly does that mean?” “It means I can get the thing into a more understandable form, but I can’t guarantee that we won’t lose some of the nuance in the words, because we have lost the syntax in time. This is the hazard when translating anything l

The quality of something that had been waiting three hundred years to communicate this specific thing and was choosing the clearest medium available. It felt like: Yes. This. What you have been building toward. This is what the function is for. And then something more specific. The full translation does not produce more information. It produces more clarity in the information that already exists. The world does not become more complex. It becomes more readable. What has been obscure becomes legible. What has been misread becomes correctly understood. And then the most specific thing.